ghost lights
by irmaida
Summary: "It's the worst thing in the world, losing your mind." —FinnickAnnie and insanity. Annie-centric.


For Han (gillan), who I was Secret Santa for. I'm sorry if I didn't incorporate all the prompts very well. Happy Holidays! :)

* * *

**ghost lights**

**.:.**

Annie Cresta is nine when she sees her grandmother Agnes die from Alzheimer's disease. Too young to see death, her mother sobs. But she's old enough to understand.

They're one of the richest families in all of District Four. Rich enough to care for an insane elderly woman. Rich enough to have a grandmother alive.

(Not rich enough to save her.)

At the funeral, everyone cries about what a wonderful woman Agnes Cresta was. Her mother even goes through two tissue boxes.

Annie herself sits in her too-hot velvet dress and pinchy black shoes and tries not to scrunch her face too much. She remembers her grandmother in the hospital bed, mumbling insane things, droll and old, unable to remember her granddaughter's name.

"My mother was the strongest, kindest, funniest, wisest woman I knew," her father sobs while he stands on the podium, delivering a heartrending testimony. She checks the mental image of her grandmother with the words her father has just given her, and, well, she can't see it. She knows it's rude to think of the dead (and it's her _grandmother_) in such a way, but really, she can't, and she doesn't see anything to cry about. She's just… detached.

"At least," her father continues, "until Alzheimer's took her mind away."

Annie can't remember her time when her grandmother _didn't_ have Alzheimer's, when she was strong and kind and funny and wise.

("Well, you're such a kind and loving grandchild," her best friend Finnick said when Annie told him her thoughts.

Annie looked down at her shoes, feeling guilty. "But… I mean, if you ask me, she's already been dead for years now. Just trapped in a body." She bit her lip, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts. "I mean, if I were in her place, I-I'd want to kill myself."

Anyone else wouldn't take her seriously, would shake their head and tell her, _you're young, you don't know anything_. But Finnick took her seriously. It's one of her favorite things about him. And she was being honest. She would rather die than lose her mind.)

In her row, her mother and grandfather all cry. Annie cries too, for the grandmother she never knew.

It must be the worst thing in the world, losing your mind.

**.:.**

(Deep, gasping breaths as her head bursts out from the surface of the water, looking for respite, but there is no respite, only a blood-red sky, and everything is wet and messy and loud, voices screaming, _Annie, save me, save me, Annie, don't let go, Annie—!_)

It's the worst thing in the world, losing your mind.

**.:.**

It makes sense that she and Finnick are best friends, despite him being two years older. Their fathers are business partners, the two richest men in all of District Four, meaning they live next door to each other and see each other all the time. But more than that, Finnick understands her in a way that no one else does. And she understands him.

Finnick volunteers when he's fourteen, something completely unheard of. Everyone thinks he's going to die. His mother yells at him in the room where they say goodbye for being so stupid, and Boris Stevins, the bear-like eighteen-year-old who was _supposed_ to volunteer for District Four, tells Finnick to die in the Games and go to hell.

Annie understands why he did it. Because he has ambition that rivals her own, and he wants to please his father. She hugs him and tells him to come back alive and that she believes in him.

**.:.**

Finnick wins. And he comes back, but he's changed. And not just physically, although he is much thinner and grayer.

If Annie's honest with herself, she's a bit scared. Because on the television, she saw him kill a twelve-year-old and make an eighteen-year-old Career girl beg for mercy. But he's still Finnick, and his father isn't present, away on a business trip instead. (What kind of father _does _that?) So Annie invites him to sleep over at her house instead, since his father is away, even though her other family members don't approve as much.

The first night he's back, she wakes up to the sound of him screaming. She brings a pot of tea into his room and takes him out to the beach even though it's two in the morning. She rubs his back and plays her harmonica while he cries. They watch the sunrise together and swim in their pajamas.

"Why do you do this?" Finnick asks.

"You're my best friend. And I'm _not _letting you lose your mind," she says stubbornly. Not like her grandmother.

And Finnick doesn't, not on her watch. Even when he turns sixteen and is forced to do work in the Capitol that he rather wouldn't do, Annie's there. She teaches him how to play a sea chantey on her harmonica, and they make nets together. She likes to brag that she's a better at tying knots than Finnick Odair. Finnick rolls his eyes, but he knows it's true.

But still, they're still only friends, no matter how many times her friend Shaileen bothers her about it. "I saw Finnick pee in his pants in second grade," she says. "I can't like him like that."

Best friends, Finnick and Annie. They write their names in the golden beach sand, _Finnick and Annie forever_.

(The next morning it's gone, washed away by the waves.)

**.:.**

(Cold. Everything is so cold. Except when it's not. The days burn, and the nights chill her to the bone, and a never-ending screaming in her ears, so much noise, so many voices and faces, how many are real, and how many are not?)

"Annie, listen to me. The interview is today, and we're going to get through it. It's just one day, a few hours, just one day. Please. You're the strongest person I know, goddammit, Annie, please, look at me!"

(_Annie, save me, don't let go, please_…)

She wants to die.

**.:.**

Annie's Reaped when she's seventeen years old.

But being Reaped is supposed to be a foreign concept. Annie didn't train as a child; her father wanted her to take over the business instead, as she was the oldest and an only child. They're one of the richest families in all of District Four. Rich enough for her to never put tesserae in.

(Not rich enough to save her.)

The girl that was supposed to volunteer that year is Boris Stevins' sister, Bryna. The Stevins family has been waiting five years to exact revenge on Finnick Odair for stealing their glory. Not to mention that Bryna's hated Finnick ever since he turned down her offer for a date. And Bryna's only seventeen and figures she'd be better off volunteering next year anyway.

Whatever the reason, Annie ends up going into the Games. And Finnick can't help feeling that it's all his fault.

He mentors her and tries to give her as much advice as he can. "Annie, you're fast. And you're even better at tying knots than me. And you'll get sponsors, I _know_ you will."

Annie smiles. "I'll be fine, Finnick. But what about you?"

He blinks away tears. It's so much like Annie to worry about him when she should be worried about herself.

**.:.**

(_Annie—_)

"So how does it feel like, being a Victor?" Caesar Flickerman asks during her interview. His hair and eyebrows are a shocking red.

(Red like the crashing waves, red like the sky, red like Ash's head, on the ground, _save me!_ Everything muted and at the same time _so loud_, her head under water, wet and messy and loud, voices and faces and an ax, her pushing Hayley away when she should have held on instead, running to a light that disappears every time she gets too close, leaving her in darkness… _don't let go, please, don't—_)

"Annie, you alright?" Caesar asks.

"No. I-I feel sick, I'm not a Victor, I don't want to be…"

(_Annie, save me, Annie, don't let go, Annie, just for a day, Annie, Annie, Annie…_)

It's too much. Caesar's eyebrows are too bright, and the audience's pastel faces swim before her eyes, and suddenly she sees Ash's head there, and the voices never, ever stop, everything is hot and cold rushing through her head. She collapses, and everything goes black.

**.:.**

When she comes home a week later, her family—her mother and father and grandfather—are dead. Something about a fire. She stands in the ashes of her childhood home while her head pounds, and she can hear their screams. She can't breathe.

(Roses. Finnick had smelled like roses, when he came out of the President's office right after her interview, and it's her fault, she knows it's her fault, her fault that they're dead, gone, _her fault_.)

Finnick. Finnick is beside her. Finnick is holding her right hand. And Mags is holding her left. She's in a bed, again. Finnick's house. Familiar pale blue walls from her childhood, like the ocean, like the water, like—

(Whispers that turn into voices that turn into screams. Which are real, and which are not? They're all real, all there, all her fault. _Annie, Annie_…)

"Annie!"

A blurry head. (_Ash_, blood and a cheeky smile.) No. Finnick. She's screaming. She's the only one screaming. There is no one else. It's gone. Over.

Or so he tells her. "Shh, Annie, it's okay. The beach, do you want to go to the beach?"

The beach. Water. Screams.

"No, that was a stupid idea, never mind. Your harmonica! You love your harmonica, Annie, please." He plays an old tune, the sea chantey she once taught him in simpler times. "Do you recognize it, Annie? Do you remember? Please, talk to me."

He's crying. He's crying because of her, and the screams have started again. (Her family, burning up in flames, because she said that she didn't want to be a Victor, and she never even got to say goodbye. And the house, the beautiful mansion, where she grew up, also gone.)

"I-" she begins, trying to speak. But she stops, because with even that one syllable, a thousand other voices have begun speaking in her head, a thousand other screams, and _ohmyGod_, it suddenly hits her that she's losing her mind.

"Annie?" Finnick asks. (_Annie! _Ash. _Annie! _Hayley. _Annie! _Her mother. _Annie! Annie! Annie!_) "What is it?"

"I want to die," she hears her voice saying.

**.:.**

(Struggling to keep her head up, the screaming and the crashing of the blood-stained waves. Her head temporarily goes under, and the water mutes the sound but only for a second, the incessant screaming in her head never stops, just goes on, never stops—

Ash, her District partner, sandy hair and wide-set brown eyes, small ears and a nose, a cheeky smile and too-large front teeth, a head in the sand, bleeding, wet and messy and loud, screaming, and she could have saved him, she saw the ax coming, she could have jumped in front of him, she should have, he would've done the same thing for her, _Annie, Annie, why didn't you save me, Annie—!_)

She wakes up in a warm bed, and she's alive. She should be dead.

**.:.**

Finnick brings her some tea. "Chamomile. It's what you fed me all the time back when I almost went insane, remember?" He laughs, but there is no humor in it. "I guess this is me finally paying you back, you know?"

(The voices laugh sadistically in her head. They don't stop.)

"Make it stop, please," she hears herself saying.

"Make what stop, Annie?" Finnick asks.

"The voices," she begs. "Make them stop."

Finnick calls for Mags. (Good old Mags. Not dead Mags. But soon to be dead Mags. Because everyone around her dies.) Mags recommends sedatives, just for a night.

"I don't want to drug her," Finnick whispers.

(The voices whisper in her head. Then they scream. They don't stop.)

"Make it stop," she begs. "Make them stop."

Finnick dissolves some powder into her tea and helps her get it down.

**.:.**

She wakes up in a warm bed, and she's alive. She should be dead.

It's the next morning, she thinks, although she can't be sure because time is so difficult now, grains of sand slipping away, one dead face after another, another sun setting, another darkness settling. Finnick is gone. Mags is there instead.

"Where's Finnick?" she asks, panicked. (_He's gone, he's dead, like the rest of them_…)

"He's fine, Annie. Off doing business at the Capitol. You know," Mags says softly.

In the vague recesses of her mind, she remembers. Remembers tying nets and playing the harmonica and rubbing his back. But the precious image is gone before she can hold onto it, and the screaming returns.

"Am I insane?" she asks, mostly to herself.

Mags smiles. "I think we all are, just a little bit."

(That's not a no.)

**.:.**

Finnick's back in a few days, late at night, but Annie's not asleep. She doesn't sleep often, unless it's with the help of the powder. But Finnick and Mags don't like to give her that too often. Says it's not good for her body. Annie doesn't understand why they're so keen to keep her alive. But one day they'll look away. And she'll be ready.

_One day _comes in roughly a week, although her sense of time isn't that great. Finnick's called back to the Capitol again on an "emergency." And Mags, as lovely as she is, is almost eighty years old and gets tired.

Mags is asleep on her rocking chair, her knitting needles across her chest and her eyes shut tight. She looks peaceful. (She looks dead.)

Annie stands up on shaky feet. The room spins before her eyes, faces hover before her own, screams fill her ears. She pushes open the door and heads outside, down the stairs, away from the mansion, to the beach.

**.:.**

The beach. Waves crashing against waves. The screams as Hayley drowns.

It's her turn, now.

**.:.**

(_Annie, I don't know how to swim! _The ground shaking, rocks falling, water everywhere. Drowning, wet and messy and loud, Hayley desperately trying to clutch onto a rock, but the blood-stained waves crash, and Annie realizes that these are the Games and she wants to go home, so bad, _don't let go, Annie, please—! _Screaming, Hayley screaming, and Annie lets go, and not just lets go but pushes her away, pushes her under the water waiting for the screaming to stop but it _doesn't stop_. Ash screaming, Hayley screaming, the boom of a cannon.)

She wakes up in a warm bed, and she's alive. She should be dead.

**.:.**

"You're so _stupid_."

Finnick's voice. Her eyes are closed, but she doesn't have to open them to know he's crying. He must think she's asleep.

"You could have _died_, you idiot, don't you know?"

(_And so could've you. And so would've you_.)

"And then what would I do, if you were dead?" Finnick continues. She feels something wet hit her cheek (_Annie, don't let go_, crashing blood-stained waves) and then a hand wipes it away, infinitely tender and soft, lingering, a ghost of a touch, but certainly there.

"You would've been fine without me," she mumbles without opening her eyes.

"Annie?" Finnick asks, hope in his voice. (Why would she bring anyone hope?) "Are you awake? Annie?"

She finally opens her heavy eyes and gazes up at a pale green ceiling. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Finnick sitting on a chair next to her bed, one hand still stroking her cheek. She concentrates on the ceiling, and the silence hangs in the room, almost palpable.

"Why am I alive?" she finally asks, her voice breaking on the last word. The ceiling blurs before her eyes. It looks like water.

"The lifeguard, Jiniva, caught you just in time and dragged you back. Took you to Mags. By that time I was home to, and I thought—I thought you were dead!" Finnick cries.

The ceiling is swimming. Drowning. "I am dead."

"Don't say that," Finnick says harshly. "Don't. Because—because it's all my fault. You were the best thing in my life, and I killed you." Pause. She hears soft gasping beside her and recognizes it as crying. Finnick's _crying_.

(Crying in her head, wailing, ringing in her ears, her dead brother, Ash, Hayley.)

"It's not your fault," she whispers. She speaks louder, raising her voice over the sounds in her head. "It's not your fault."

"How is it not?" Finnick asks. "If I hadn't pissed off Boris and waited just one more year, this whole thing wouldn't have happened, and if it weren't for me pissing off President Snow, he wouldn't have rigged the Reaping in the first place and—"

"You did nothing wrong, Finnick," she interrupts. "It's me. My fault."

(Her head is killing her. They're screaming in her head. Your fault, your fault, your fault.)

"I ruin everything I touch," she whispers.

(_Your fault, your fault, your fault. _She runs from the voices in her head, tries to get them out, but they don't stop chanting, don't stop yelling, don't stop ringing in her ears.)

"That's not true Annie. You're wonderful. You're—you're the reason I'm not dead. Remember?" She can hear Finnick's voice faintly underneath the screaming, but it seems to be fading away. "The little picnics at two a.m. You used to pack sandwiches the night before just in case. Tomato and avocado and bacon, or tuna, or leftovers if you were tired."

(_YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT_)

"Do you remember? Those picnics are why I'm still alive. And you were only twelve, and you did all this for me."

(_Annie, why didn't you save me? Annie! _She cries and reaches out, but Hayley is gone before she can grip onto anything, and the scene morphs into her home, only ashes and dirt underneath her feet, and she runs, and then everything disappears…)

"And now, I have to at least _try _to do the same thing, although I can't, and I'm afraid—I can't lose you too, Annie, I can't, but I'm worried the more time I spend with you the more I'll ruin you…"

(_Your fault— Annie, why didn't you save— Don't let go, don't let go— please, Annie_. Running, darkness, gone…)

"Don't leave," she gasps out. And she surprises herself by turning her head, tearing her gaze from the blurry (watery, swimming, drowning) ceiling and staring right at Finnick. He looks like a mess—his normally perfect hair uncombed, his plaid shirt rumpled, dried water on his cheeks.

"I won't," he says. "I won't ever."

She sits up in the bed, pressing the palm of her hands into the firm but soft mattress and pulling herself up, surprised at how easy it is. She's moved very little since she came back from the Games, either comatose or thrashing from nightmares or just lying down staring at the ceiling. (Or trying to drown herself.) "Promise."

"I promise."

(A moment, just a moment, when the screaming subsides and there's a memory, at least she thinks it's a memory, thinks it's real because it looks real but then again she never knows, a late night picnic, her head on his lap, his fingers stroking her hair. _Promise you won't leave, Annie. _I promise. And then it quickly turns into dead Finnick, _Annie, you promised you would, Annie!_)

His fingers stroke her cheek, his eyes gaze into hers. Everything is blurry and wet and messy and loud, but she can hear his voice through it.

"I promise."

(She doesn't believe him.)

His fingers, the ones still on her cheek, are trembling slightly. And before she can process it, Finnick leans in and kisses her softly on the lips.

(But she wants to believe him.)

He pulls away and immediately looks down. "I'm sorry."

She leans back against the headboard of the bed and tries to remind herself what is real and what is not. "No, don't be."

He smiles and kisses her again, on the forehead this time. She lies back down and eventually drifts off to sleep.

**.:.**

(She thinks she understands why her grandmother held onto life for so long while she lost her mind, all those years ago. Her family didn't let the woman die. Because they knew she wasn't completely lost. It was as simple as that.)

She wakes up in a warm bed, and she's alive.


End file.
